The trip to Toronto was, like most of my adventures, brief but exciting. I woke up way too early (4:30 AM), with plenty of time to prepare, drove 30 minutes, parked my car, and boarded a bus, joining nearly 100 fellow travelers for a three-hour drive into downtown Toronto, thankful that I wasn't behind the wheel because the road was barely visible through an onslaught of rain. I was happy to relax with a book while occasionally glancing up to check the road signs and gauge the distance traveled.
After a single pit stop, we arrived at the Canadian border. The driver parked, we trooped inside, and, one by one, approached the counter with our passports and enhanced licenses, assuring the border agents that we were not transporting firearms. It was a quick, orderly process, but we had to wait inside while the bus was thoroughly inspected, inside and out, front to back, a process that took several minutes to complete. We stayed on schedule, though, so the tour operator must have accounted for the required delays.
Our first stop in Canada, shortly before noon, was the Eaton Centre, a giant downtown mall filled with chain stores and, most importantly to us, an impressive food court. Being the overly prepared nerd that I am (I did, after all, barrel through the Happiest Place on Earth with a detailed two-day itinerary, lest I miss a single attraction or waste a minute during my stay), I had browsed the mall's website prior to arrival and already chosen my meal - a quinoa salad and cortado (a double-shot espresso with steamed milk) - at Aroma Espresso Bar, which turned out to be the first stop off the escalator after I made a beeline off the bus, through the upper floors, and down to the ground floor, maximizing my limited time (always the downside of a guided tour).
Thanks to my planning, I had ample time to eat, people watch, and then browse several stores before I briefly panicked, wondering if I, with my lousy sense of direction, could find my way out to the designated meeting place to reboard the bus. Fortunately, I did (in fact, I went out early and waited for the bus, preferring waiting to risking losing my ride).
When I returned to the bus, I unwittingly sat on a wet seat, courtesy of a leaking water bottle in my canvas bag, resulting in an embarrassing and uncomfortable wet stain on the back of my light-gray pants. I could only hope that no one would comment (thankfully no one, if they noticed, said a word). But on the plus side, the tour host handed out our tickets for our marquee event, a sold-out matinee performance of Come From Away, the wildly popular Canadian musical, at the Royal Alexandra Theatre. A few minutes later, we arrived and took our seats at the back of the orchestra section.
The show, which focuses on the plight of airline passengers stranded in Gander, Newfoundland, in the chaotic days after 9/11, and the resulting inconvenience to, and extraordinary hospitality of, the townspeople, started promptly at 2 PM and zipped along entertainingly for the next 100 minutes. I laughed a few times - the dialogue and scenes are frequently humorous - and choked up at others, and I knew the infectious songs, especially the opening and reprising number "Welcome to the Rock" would still be running through my mind days later. At the end of the show, I jumped out of my seat, releasing a sniffle-snort of emotion while joining the rest of the audience in a raucous standing ovation. (A woman behind me lost her brooch and my water bottle rolled under my seat in the tumult. I crawled under the seat to retrieve both.)
Back on the bus, bound for the border, one of my fellow passengers relayed that she had been seated next to a Gander resident (of all people) who confirmed that everything depicted on stage was true. "The plane people" have, in fact, stayed in touch with "the islanders," returning to visit and contributing financially to the town. If taking a poll, I think the driver would have found that most, if not all of us, wanted to continue on to Gander to experience it for ourselves, but, alas, we returned home, and the rest of the trip was anticlimactic. The high point was a dinner stop at a fast-food court. Since I hadn't planned ahead (not knowing where we'd eat), I wandered in circles (as I'm prone to doing) before settling on a safe and boring bet, a grilled chicken sub.
The final stop before returning to my car was our U.S. border crossing. This was a larger checkpoint with several stations, where I was asked if I was a U.S. citizen and if I had purchased anything in Canada. (Aside from the food I'd eaten, I hadn't.) We piled back onto the bus, where we drove past a breathtaking view of Niagara Falls. By the time I returned to my car, it was dark, my energy was spent, and I was looking forward to a shower, clean (dry) clothes, and a Dateline marathon in my pajamas, a typical night after an atypical whirlwind day.
